In spite of the beauty of a Velaris night, the golden orange glow of dawn was, perhaps, Nesta's favorite part of the day. She wasn't sure that she'd ever had a favorite part of the day before whereas Elain had much preferred the early morning hours and Feyre the twinkling nights. But Nesta had grown a certain appreciation for the dawn that bathed the City of Starlight in an ethereal radiance. It had helped her to adjust to Cassian's early morning schedule, to wake up and know the first light of the day would be awaiting her. And it would be the first touch of the sun that would reach out its warm embrace upon her and the rest of the Valkyrie each morning.
"One day," Cassian had promised her one morning when he'd sat with her on the balcony of their bedroom to watch the dawn settle, "I'll take you to the Dawn Court so you can see a real sunrise."
They had yet to carve out the time in their demanding schedules to make the trip, but Nesta looked forward to it.
Dawn was the most peaceful part of the day, Nesta thought. It was the start of a new day, a time when she could cast the anxieties and troubles of an old day behind her and start fresh and anew. That is what dawn was— a new start.
It had become a daily ritual for the two mates to get up together and watch the sunrise from their balcony on the House of Wind, often snuggled in each other's arms or making love beneath the day's first rays.
This morning, however, Nesta missed the familiarity of spending the morning in her mate's arms as Cassian was away in Illyria for the week. Meanwhile, she remained in Velaris, and she would instead be spending these mornings with some of her friends, the Valkyries.
She paced the roof of the House of Wind, delicately correcting the females' stances or praising their footwork. The legion of Valkryie had been growing considerably over time, consisting of even several Illyrians who had joined following Emerie's victory in the Blood Rite. Though she had no desire to take her legion into battle anytime soon, she felt immense pride in watching them grow in their confidence and individual strength. Training with them certainly was a satisfactory distraction when her mate was away.
"Good, Toria!" Nesta called across the training ring to a newer recruit Emerie had enlisted from the Windhaven camp weeks ago. "Stand tall. Your feet look perfect!"
Emerie herself was in Illyria with Cassian, helping recruit more females to train and setting a heavy foot down in the camps when needed. Nesta missed having her friend at her side to help direct the new Valkyries, but Gwyn was enthusiastic and a plenty welcoming presence to any newcomers. Across the ring, she sat with three other priestesses she'd just beckoned from the library, working them through the beginning stretches as an introduction.
"Roslin, your form is beautiful! Just bring your elbow up a bit."
Roslin was practicing punches against a padded beam, and Nesta watched the next one she delivered. When she again dropped her elbow, Nesta slowly approached, meeting the woman's eyes for permission. Roslin nodded, and Nesta lightly touched her elbow, raising it to the appropriate height. "Try again."
Instead of trying the punch again, however, Roslin dropped both her arms and faced Nesta with a question on her face. "Something smells strange," she mused, deep red brows scrunched together as she looked to Nesta.
Nesta blinked. "Pardon?"
"Don't you smell it? Something in the training ring smells odd."
Nesta glanced around briefly. "Does it smell bad?"
"Well, no. Just— strange."
Nesta pointed to the only difference she could find in the training ring that differed from their surroundings since the last time they had met. A small bed of flowers was now potted by the water station. "My sister planted those orchids just a few days ago." Though, Nesta had been smelling the flowers since Elain had planted them, and she thought their scent was nothing but pleasant.
Roslin turned to study the orchids and gave a puzzled 'hmm' as if that wasn't the answer she was looking for. But she turned back to the beam before her without another word and raised her arms back into position. She struck hard and true, and Nesta beamed in pride. "Perfect! Keep it up, Roslin!"
She stopped by the new members, walked through a new warmup with them, practiced beside them for a moment. When they left to return to the library, Gwyn followed Nesta around the ring at her side. "The orchids smell lovely," she spoke conversationally.
Nesta smiled. "My sister insists they look best up here. That all of Cassian's equipment is too overbearing, and we needed something brighter up here."
Gwyn chuckled with her. "Well, I agree. And it most definitely isn't the orchids that are making that smell."
Nesta's neck snapped to look at her friend. "Now you smell something too?"
"You don't?"
"Cassian and I are up here often. Perhaps, whatever that smell is, I have grown used to it."
The young girl's face turned a brilliant shade of red and her mouth fell open. "Oh! If that smell is you and Cassian—"
"Oh, please! We have enough decency to leave the training space alone."
Gwyn didn't appear convinced.
"Besides, he's been gone all week, and he'll be gone for a month more at the very least. So, it isn't me and Cassian."
"If you say so."
"Gwyn!"
The younger girl just smirked sheepishly, her face still bright with her beguiled blush. "I should head back to the library before Merrill is up. See you tomorrow morning?"
"Actually— I'll be heading to Illyria in the morning."
"Aww!" Gwyn batted her lashes. "Visiting your mate?"
"I don't know. Do you think Devlon would savor my company if I paid him a visit?"
Gwyn just rolled her eyes. "Well, I think it's adorable that you can't stand a week without seeing Cassian."
"I'm so glad me and my mate's relationship is interesting enough for you." Nesta playfully shoved her as they parted ways. "I'll be back before our next practice. Bye, Gwyn."
It's always cold in Illyria, and the frosty wind bites at Nesta's skin as she stalks through the bustling camp, clutching at her coat and holding firmly onto her fur-lined hood as the wind whips at her hair. The gazes of dozens of warriors follow her— some curious, some lusting, and others threatening. Nesta is used to it, used to their stares, used to the hunger for blood that always hangs in the air of every war camp.
They all know who she is. The general's mate and wife. In Illyria, that is her first identity. Secondly, the witch, Lady of Death. Thirdly, eldest sister to the High Lady of the Night Court. And, very lastly, commander of the Valkyries. Sometimes, those titles are a protection. Sometimes, it merely draws curiosity. Other times, there are waiting lines for soldiers who would love to draw her blood just to get to their bastard general.
But Nesta Archeron can handle herself, and she doesn't mind putting an overgrown bat in their place if they make it clear they mean harm. Besides, it's best she handles any situation herself before her mate hears of any threat to her. They ought to know the general is not so forgiving.
Today, however, Nesta doesn't spare the watchful gazes a single thought because it's been weeks since she's seen her mate, and Nesta can't make herself care about anything else. Her body aches with need, and her heart thumps with desire. This is the first time she and Cassian have been separated for more than a few days for their work, and Nesta doesn't care for it. She needs him.
She takes shelter in the little cabin Cassian claims at one end of the camp. She lights a fire— something she wouldn't be able to do had she not had her mate at her side these years since the Hybern war. But it is cold, and Nesta can light a fire with only a small cringe before she shrugs off her jacket and reaches out her hands to warm up.
She has no special plans, no fancy lingerie she made a special trip to that shop in Velaris for. She didn't prepare a picnic to share or bring an assortment of candles with her. All that she wants is to be in her mate's arms and to make every second count before they both must return to their duties.
Nesta loses count of the minutes she waits, if time stretches into hours while she warms up by the fireplace and waits for her mate to retire for the evening. It is long enough that she considers once or twice going out to the training fields where the men practice and seeking out her mate. But the growing chill of nightfall is less than appealing, and Nesta wants her mate all to herself when he sees she came to visit.
The last hours of the day slip away, and Nesta is fighting off sleep when the heavy door suddenly bursts open and the night chill rushes in. Instinctively, Nesta tugs her blanket closer to her body, but then she sees her mate. Cassian's silhouette fills up the doorway, his broad frame lit by his siphons against the dark night. He pauses there, likely surprised that Nesta is here, but she just smiles at him before she can make out his features, dropping her book and rising to meet him. He starts forward, and Nesta can make out his smile and the warmth in his eyes by the light of the fire. His shoulders slump as he takes in the sight of her, and mutters, "Nes."
Nesta's lips tick up in an effervescent beam, glowing in his presence. "Hi."
Immediately, he is inside, kicking the door shut behind him. He takes two long strides forward and Nesta launches herself into his arms, their lips immediately crashing together. He holds her, one enormous hand cradling her hip. "Love, what are you doing here?"
"I missed you," she breathes, beaming up at him. "I needed to see you."
"I can't tell you how much I missed you too."
Nesta lays a palm against his cheek, guides his face downward as they kiss, leading him closer, showing him exactly how she wants him. Cauldron, it's been weeks, and Nesta is starving. Starving for the taste of him, the feel of him, the warmth and reassurance of his presence.
She holds his face between her hands, rising onto her toes to reach, pulling him closer and closer. His fingers trail her waistline, working at the fasteners to her Illyrian leathers—
And Cassian suddenly freezes.
His fingers are unnaturally still at her hips, not a breath coming from his mouth. Nesta doesn't think to be disappointed because she can still feel his desire burning through their bond, but even his emotions seem to come to a standstill, and she falls back on her heels to look at him. She can't follow his gaze, but his brows are scrunched together with a question, the same sentiment in his parted lips. Nesta runs her hands down his arms to hold his where they still linger at her hips, and she nudges him via their bond. "Cas? Cas, what's wrong?"
At first, doesn't look up, doesn't so much as nod or shake his head to acknowledge her.
Instead, Cassian's calloused thumbs twitch against the sliver of exposed skin above Nesta's waistline, and his chin slowly rises until their gazes meet. Such a startling silence falls between them, surrounding them, and Nesta isn't sure what to expect, but the way Cassian's face falls— he looks like he's on a precipice, on the very edge of his last hope. For what, Nesta has no idea. Until his gaze flickers back downward to their entwined hands, then back up once again to meet her gaze.
"Cassian."
His next words are hardly more than a mumble as he manages, "You came here to tell me."
Nesta frowns. "Tell you what?"
Then, his face truly falls, and Nesta feels like her heart has suddenly plunged itself off a cliff, stopped, and now suspends in midair. And Cassian holds it there.
But then he looks at her. Truly looks at her for the first time in this meeting. Dark hazel eyes lock onto her gray-blue, and Nesta feels bare before him. The world is empty except for the two of them, devoid of all other things and sights and sounds except for the tear that comes to glimmer in her mate's eye and his broken whisper as he tells her, "I can smell it."
And Nesta finally understands.
"I'm pregnant."
Cassian crumples before her, falling to his knees, and Nesta clutches his hands— not to hold him up, but to anchor herself. The realization crashes through her, and Nesta fears for the briefest moment that she's going into shock. But Cassian's hands tighten around her waist, fingers tremorring. She looks down to see his whole body quaking. But it doesn't scare Nesta. No, it bolsters her.
"I'm pregnant." Nesta echoes the words like a prayer or incantation, an effort, perhaps, to make it seem real. But it doesn't, really, until Nesta feels her shirt lift and Cassian presses his lips to the pale skin of her belly. There is no curve, no swell to her abdomen, but Cassian traces his thumbs over her skin like he can feel their child beneath.
And the feeling resonates through Nesta, sending shockwaves echoing through her as she soaks in that sensation. Cassian kneeling before her, leaving a trail of kisses along her skin as he rejoices. He's going to be a father.
Twenty uninterrupted bloody cycles, how many long nights of prayer.
And Nesta is now carrying his child.
"We're having a baby."
Cassian looks up at her, tears running a steady stream down his cheeks. Understanding slowly dawns upon his face. "You didn't already know."
Something like guilt touches down in Cassian's gaze, and Nesta finds it so preposterous that she could laugh. If she wasn't so damn happy.
She touches his chin, confirms that he's looking at her when she tells him, "I wouldn't want this moment any other way."
His eyes— they are as bright as the day of their mating ceremony. By the Mother, his whole face is alight, full of such joy and happiness. His shoulders bob with silent sobs and the corners of his mouth tick up in a smile, and Nesta is undone.
It is Cassian's raw elation that undoes her, and Nesta has matching tears rolling down her cheeks before she knows it. She can't see through her blurry view, but she feels her mate's arms wrap around her a second before her feet leave the ground. Just as quickly, Cassian sets her back on her feet and blazes a trail of fierce kisses down her jaw, then back to her stomach.
Nesta smiles. Cassian is sobbing, kissing her belly over and over again. She cherishes this, the unending joy it brings her to know how much her mate already loves their child. That boundless promise of his love and devotion to her.
"Cassian." She brings her hands down his arms to where he still holds her by the waist, thumbs stroking her flat belly. She wants to kiss him, but she also doesn't want to move him, interrupt this very first moment between their family. She grants him a long moment until he seems to be out of kisses, but then he bows his head against her stomach and holds it there, the tears unending. "Mother above, Nesta, I love you so much. And I love you."
Her heart gives an extra beat as she realizes he's not talking to her.
The moment blurs, though Nesta will never forget a single second of it later— and they soon end up in Cassian's bed. Nesta wants to give, to express her joy to him and how much she loves him, but Cassian spends the time worshiping her. He plants a path of kisses along her abdomen so many times that Nesta swears she can feel it branded onto her skin, leaving a permanent mark. She loves his lips there, loves how much he already loves their child, how happy he is to become a father.
Cassian burns another trail of heated kisses from her core up to her belly button. Back and forth and back and forth. And Nesta thinks she won't mind ten months of this. But the shock reverberates through her once again as she tries to imagine the next ten months, tries to grapple with the new reality slowly settling in. She tries to imagine a baby growing in her swelling belly, feeling her and Cassian's child kick beneath her skin, making their presence known until Nesta can hold them in her arms. And Nesta can hardly put the pieces together to imagine it, but the blurred vision she does get is too incredible that she can't find the words or voice to speak let alone the mind to process.
"I love you, Nesta Archeron. Mother above, I love you. I love you so fucking much, my mate. I could never tell you how much I love you." Cassian repeats the sentiment like a chant, a prayer to her and their babe, and it unleashes any reserve Nesta might have had. She reaches for his face, guides his gaze back to hers, pulls him back up. She smiles at him as she holds him there, committing the image of his very joy to her memory. And, for a moment, they just look at each other. Because, just as there are no words for this moment, there are no actions, either. And they just stare, sharing their most raw smiles and baring their souls to each other until the emotion is too much and physical release is the only way.
That night, they pleasure each other as they never have. Because something as powerful and transforming as their mating bond now ties them together, and all they know to do is rejoice in it.
Not a second of sleep. Nesta doubts either of them will get any in the coming day because she can hardly sort through her racing thoughts to find some rest.
She is wet and sweating and pleasantly aching from her and Cassian's celebrations, but she is content to lie there with her mate when the first drops of morning light seep through the blinded window. Dawn slowly rises, and Nesta watches it from the comfort of her mate's side. Cassian holds her tight to his chest, arms wrapped around her, keeping her there. As they lie on their sides, his head rests above hers, his even breaths a steady thrum just behind her.
A new day. Another beginning.
Cassian's arms tighten around her waist, one hand presuming its place and newfound home at her belly. Nesta doesn't mind. It's her mate's expression of love— where words cannot express what touch just might be able to convey. It's all Nesta needs as she gazes outside to where the golden-orange glow of morning meets the earth and sparks the horizon. Where the infinite promises of a new day suddenly dawn even brighter for Nesta and Cassian.